


Dawnbreaker

by Lucidsilver



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Amara (supernatural) - Freeform, Angel Michael (Supernatural), Angelic Grace, Dimension Travel, Doesn't get far, Gen, Genderfluid, I Tried, Lucifer's Cage, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Lucifer, Reincarnation, Vessel, hit and run
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 19:45:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6297670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucidsilver/pseuds/Lucidsilver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were hardly above the mud that was used to create them, and they were expected to bow down to them? The though of bending down, even if to get a better look at the walking piles of mud given life through wisps of His greatness was sickening. No, humans were not even near His level, and Lucifer refused to bow, no matter how much it hurt to defy His will. With the thickly pulsing mark on  the Archangel's shoulder whispering encouragement and support, it seemed like a good idea at the time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dawnbreaker

She was walking down the street with a slight skip in her step. Only those who knew her well would recognize the faint narrowing of her eyes that caused wrinkles at the corners and the pressed lips were her version of a smile.  
It was cold, the faint drizzles of rain causing her to shiver, hastily rubbing droplets from her face with a slight grimace at the moisture spotting her glasses. A neutral expression replacing as she pulled her scarf tighter, her shoulders hunched against the wind that ruffled her coat. At least she was heading home, out of the cold wet rain.  
All thoughts of perching on her favorite swivel chair and finally getting around to reading the books recommended to her by a friend that finally arrived while eating muffins were interrupted by a sudden feeling of wrongness, the hairs at the back of her neck rising. At the screech of tiers she only heard in movies heralding a vehicle losing control, she felt her eyes widen.  
Feeling as if time itself slowed down, the girl turned, slowly as if moving through water to see the source of the noise. The truck was large and old she noted, well used and given only enough care to be barely operational. Probably why it was currently careening towards her, vaguely reminding the girl of a frantic dog she once saw stumbling over its own feet in pursuit of a cat.  
Knowing it was pointless and accepting it was pointless were two very different things. The former applied to her more than the later. After the second it took to comprehend exactly what it was she was seeing, the girl spun lurching forward. Trying to get out of the way.  
In a vaguely dreamlike way, the girl noted some part of the vehicle, probably the front impact her shoulder and back, bones snapping and crunching, as they ground harshly against each other. Coat and flesh shredded, bloodily and torn open her body was picked up and sent flying.  
She bounced one or two times, a tumbling bag of broken bones that landed not too far from her house, unfortunately in the middle of the road. The pain was mind numbing, intense, and impossible to ignore.  
She could barely think, but through the fog that clouded coherent thought and the dark encroaching at the corners of her vision the girl realized absently that the loud snap that reverberated through her skull was her neck. Before the darkness fully claimed the girl hazily recalled just learning about internal decapitation a month ago from a news article. She closed her eyes.  
It began with a bright light, blinding in its intensity and pureness, piercing the primordial darkness and paving the way for all of creation. Events that few words in any language known to mankind could ever truly describe were remembered.  
The beginnings of Creation. The birth of the first of many universes, the carefully crafted marbles that orbiting orbs of light were part of blossoming spiraling galaxies. When the Old Ones threaten their Father's most precious creation, they helped cast them out. Alongside her siblings she watched her Father's work as the Creator filled the darkness with light.  
Time passed, and there were more than just her three siblings. She played with fledglings, teaching them about their Father, who was busy furthering creation, only they saw him, bust as he was. Everything fell into a pattern, all was peaceful and simple. There was no disorder or misconduct. The only disturbances were small acts of mischief by the younger, goaded on by the youngest of the original four, all in good fun. Humans, were a complication that she hadn't been able to handle. Her Father's greatest creation, one he wished them to bend their knee, bow down to.  
Sculpted earth given form through creation, a sliver of her Father's brilliance, their souls bringing them to life. The very sight of them sickened her. Twisted mockeries that paled in comparison to her father, imperfect, flawed shattered things that's very existence set wrongly in her being. She swallowed her revulsion, pushing back the dark discontent that stirred in her mind and tried to obey her Father.  
But she couldn't understand. Why worship twisted flawed mockeries of the original? The source of all that is good and right, Life itself? She couldn't. Humans were too cruel and violent, every act they committed marring the original luminescence of the soul gifted to them by her Father. Spreading from the first man to all. Didn't they see it? Her wings where perpetually arched in agitation, and her grace throbbed. As much as it shamed her for being so weak, she could no longer ignore the cold stain from the mark, its whispers haunted her constantly and were becoming more and more difficult to ignore.  
With pain if her grace, she confided with her siblings, only to be accused of betraying Father and gazed at with suspicion. Enraged and hurt she poured out all her feelings of betrayal, her refusal to love any being that corrupted and stained the gift their Father left for them.  
What happened next was a blur. Exploding grace, broken wings, shrieks of the dying, and the clash of sword against sword. When she came to her senses, the mark satisfied, the Archangel was overcome with horror and self-loathing. Her siblings gone, dead or fighting, her Father not even deigning to look at her. She had destroyed her Family. She. Did. Not. Want. This!  
She cried as brethren fell, wings stripped and burned as they fell in disgrace, cries of pain and suffering ringing through the ether. She was nearly catatonic when the eldest archangel arrived, sword drawn, thousands of wings spread aggressively. It was awe inspiring, yet it hardly roused her. She let her grace formed sword dissipate, wings carelessly spayed prone around her. To be cut or trod upon, she deserved no better.  
As the sword stabbed at her, she allowed herself to go with the blow, falling from heaven down to the dismal realm of hell, cut off from the voices of her siblings, though as of late, all she could have heard were screams and wails. The walls of her cage closed in on her, the cold sapping the warmth of heaven till she was a hollow empty shell. Her Father was the only one capable of constructing such a prison, to smother the flaming light of her wings. It hurt.  
Hell had been her own creation, meant to be a place where she could flex her burning grace without worry of damaging any of her Father's creations, time running faster so she could practice longer without being missed, not that most angels would notice since time flowed so differently to them. What was a couple centuries to ageless beings that they were? She wouldn’t be surprised if she was the eldest sibling with how long she had spent in hell, aged and matured by the ever fluctuating passage of time. 

Naturally, the burning fires barely melted the black ice that permeated the place. Some of her flames still burned due to her grace that tied the realm to her. What was once her little private get away was now her prison, were the walls pressed ever closer, suffocating and small to a being that could make the speed of light seem like a casual stroll.  
For the first few centuries she tried to free herself, frantically clawing at the impenetrable walls, lashing with her talons wings and tails. When after the centuries passed and nothing changed save for the yawning cold in her grace growing larger, she frantically fluttered from one end of the cage to another, screaming out to her Father and brethren, unheard or ignored her calls went unanswered. Her once flawless form was marred by spider webbed tracks of darkness trying to root out the remaining light within her dimmed grace. It itched.  
It was too small, to silent for one used to hearing millions of voiced always talking and singing, a constant ambiance that she felt so lost without. Singing brokenly to herself trying to ignore how impossibly loud the silence was and the coy whispers of the darkness, she finally settled into a corner of the cage, cradling the small flame her once brilliant grace was reduced to, thousands of tattered wings uncaring strewn around her. It was all that was left that was untouched by the darkness, and she kept it as pure despite the gnawing madness that rooted itself in the rest of her marred grace.  
She was lonely enough to create the first demon, in one of her fits of madness, thinking a companion would soothe the mind consuming quietness and be a suitable alternative to the darkness that furthered its grip every time she gave in to the urge to hear something other than her lonely thoughts. Many more followed, and hell changed to accommodate them. Silence replaced by screams of the tortured, for better or for worse.  
The mark had been passed to a soul when she could no longer stand to bear it, and although she didn’t deserve it, she was thankful that the looming shadow in her mind was gone, and she could fully focus on keeping that small bit of grace pure at the expense of the rest marred by the mark. It weakened her isolating herself to such an extent, but stubbornly she refused to integrate the tainted grace that drifted around the Cage and shielded her from the bitter cold.  
She never did manage to break the cage that held, her, however she did manage to create a small almost insignificant crack, the thinnest sliver of space. Later she would recall that it was that exact spot all her eyes except those staring at the small ragged piece of her remaining untainted grace had been that exact spot all her eyes had been focusing on for several million years spent in her isolation. The moment she noticed the opening, she separated her small remaining bit of pure grace and shot through, but despite her small weak state, an Archangel’s grace had presence, and she tore herself into pieces in her fervor to escape.  
Tattered shreds of grace condensed into a small shade of its former brilliance rocketed out of hell, so weak and faint, it was easily mistaken as a soul by any supernatural creature that saw it, and just as easily forgotten.  
Each tattered shred of grace became a false soul, inhabiting the nearest empty vessel once out of hell, and once the vessel expired the grace a little fuller and polished melded together, slowly reforming the archangel, until her final vessel's death.  
For almost a thousand years, her shredded grace lay dormant, steadily regaining strength with each new reincarnation, rejoining with each death until combining to form a whole archangel that never felt more conflicted in all of her existence.  
The memories of countless life times were hard to ignore, but the archangel known to most as Lucifer had other things to worry about, mainly the vessel that she had been occupying for fourteen years, splattered across the asphalt, and the driver that staggered into his vehicle, speeding off.  
For a moment once inside her vessel the Archangel simply let her still tender, but grace slowly stitch her body back together, reacquainting herself with the familiar but alien form, and different movements necessary to operate it. Sitting up took more effort than it should have, but she managed, and was rewarded with a good look at the vomit that covered her from the waist down.  
That …driver, was going nowhere.

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure were I was going with this when I started a month ago, i'll keep this as a one shot for now and edit it if I notice mistakes or want to plug up plot holes.  
> A/N: The show is interesting and I like some of the characters but I have not, and probably will not watch supernatural anytime soon. My knowledge comes from clips, spoilers from random people, and wiki.


End file.
